yeah . . . a bonafide princess. She showed me her patent of nobility, which she carried in a convenient bookbag.

I was beginning to think that this could go somewhere, but then she let me bang her in a phonebooth outside my hangout bar.

I stopped at the bar after my weekly Rugby game. I drank several beers to calm me down . . . playing Rugby and mainlining test have turned me into a hairy-backed manimal. I ooze streams of charm and pheromome-laden sweat, but sometimes I get a little too "jacked," if you know what I mean. then i just need to chill.

Anyhow, I got me a pitcher of fine Belgian beer, and I fished out my copy of "Never Let Me Go" by Ishiguro. I keep it in my right sock and use it as a shinguard when I play. After lighting up a Gauloise, I began annotating the book. I met Ishiguro when I was in high school at Oxford, and he'd sent me a copy of the book and asked me for my comments.

Anyhow, this girl--who I'd conservatively rate as a 14 on a scale of 1 to 10--approached me and said, "M'sieur, I'm craving a gauloise. May I have one of yours?" I handed the cigarettes to her with a flourish and returned to my book.

But she would not be put off and tried hard to engage me in conversation. She fished some samples of her haikus out of her bookbag. I found them charming, if somewhat trite. She then showed me samples of her essays, some of which showed the promise of a young Montaigne, or even a Voltaire.

Then she showed me her princess papers, and I was really impressed.

Anyhow, to cut a long story short, I banged the snot out of her in a phonebooth that was conveniently placed right outside the bar. I told you guys I was a manimal.

That cleared up my head and now I wonder if she's really girlfriend material . . . seemed a little too easy. She's a princess, but she also likes to get nasty in phonebooths . . .

All my female friends say that I shouldn't dismiss her . . . they say that no mortal woman can resist my charm. I suppose they're right.

Just thought I'd get some feedback from my getbig peeps . . . although I imagine my massive Oxon-bred intellect will sort this problem out before my buzz wears off.